


The Hunted

by Zaadi



Series: Alternate Third Series [7]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaadi/pseuds/Zaadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin are missing.  Without the Prince, Camelot must face a sorcerer's vengeful brother, a fanatic determined to destroy all magic, and a woman from its past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit right off that this story does not feature Merlin or Arthur. This series of mine is what it says on the label, an Alternate Third Series. And while I worried that it might be bad to have an "episode" of a show called 'Merlin' not feature Merlin himself, I decided that if 'Doctor Who' can have Doctor-lite episodes, I can have a Merlin-less "episode." Also, I have Merlin and Arthur away in another kingdom, as told in the previous stories, and I realized that pacing-wise, tension-wise, and plain-old-story-wise, I needed to check in with Camelot. So, meanwhile, back at the ranch . . .

 

**3.7 The Hunted**

* * *

Lancelot heard the footfalls through the underbrush in front of him—three men were stealing through the trees.  They wore green and brown and grey—well-suited to blending into the forest.  Lancelot tugged the reins of his horse and stole after them.

A woman was watering her horse at a nearby creek.  She was forty years old, spry, well-(but not finely) dressed—probably some noblewoman’s servant—and clearly traveling alone.  Lancelot spurred his horse forward, glancing around to see just how many thieves had surrounded her.  She looked up as five men advanced with swords drawn.  A strand of graying brown hair fell into her face as she sucked in her breath.  Lancelot rushed up, putting himself in front of her.

“Leave now.”  Lancelot drew his sword; his horse snorted and stamped.  One of the men sneered up at him and reached for the knife strapped to his side.

“You’re outnumbered,” the man said, positioning himself to throw the knife at Lancelot.

“That may be,” Lancelot said, but before he could continue, an arrow hit one of the other men in the back, killing him.  Lancelot’s horse reared as a dozen men rode up.  The would-be thieves glanced at each other then raced away through the trees.  The newly-arrived posse did not follow.

“Come out, you witch,” the leader said, turning his horse in a tight circle to peer in every direction. 

Lancelot also looked around, but all he saw of the woman was her horse.  He felt a hard grip on his arm and turned to find the leader’s face in his, their knees hitting each other as their horses fidgeted.

“Where is she?” the man demanded.  He was an older man with young brown eyes, his hair full and white, and each wrinkle on his face a hard line carved by time.  He was dangerously fit, but Lancelot didn’t flinch beneath the squeezing grip, merely stared back and shrugged.  The man narrowed his eyes.

“I followed the thieves,” Lancelot said.  “She just happened to be the next victim.  Who is she?”

“An evil witch.”  He released Lancelot’s arm and stared around at the surrounding foliage as if his eyes could pierce the tree trunks.  “Grab her horse—let’s see how far she gets without it.  You would do well to remember that magic is a darkness that consumes the souls of all those who practice it.”  Whether he said this to Lancelot or to his men or to himself, Lancelot couldn’t tell, but they were parting words and the man trotted off, his men close behind.

“Please help me,” a voice said once the last of the group had vanished.

Lancelot turned around.  The woman was standing by the creek, exactly where she had been when the thieves approached.

“Neat trick,” Lancelot said, sheathing his sword.

 ~

The crowd was large as the dark-haired man was brought forth—Samuel, thirty-one years old.  The crowd was silent as King Uther recited the charge.  Witchcraft.  The crowd watched as two guards forced him to his knees.  He had no last words.  His eyes sought desperately among the faces of the bystanders, but they were all stone—closed-up houses that admitted no guests.  His twisting neck made the executioner roll his eyes.  _Now or five minutes from now, either way your head’s coming off_ , the executioner told the condemned man.

“You don’t have to watch this,” Lancelot said to Lunette as they blended with the crowd.  But the woman he had escorted secretly into town shook her head.

“He shouldn’t die surrounded by enemies,” she whispered.  Her face was hidden beneath a large, dirty grey cloak; nonetheless Lancelot saw that she was biting her lip.

Samuel stopped squirming.  His eyes locked on someone in the crowd.  Uther raised his hand.  The signal fell.  Samuel’s head rolled slightly as a broken voice cried out—no one could pinpoint the source.  Perhaps it had come from the dead man.  Perhaps it was just one of many dogs.  Lancelot glanced around at the gathered men and women, stopping his attention as he recognized one of them—a young, sandy-haired man, wearing dirty clothes and a black cloak, the hood fallen.  The sandy-haired man stared at Samuel’s lifeless head, and a tear fell down his cheek.

Lunette pinched Lancelot’s arm, and he turned to her.  He followed her gaze up to the balcony where Uther stood.  Beside him now was the old man from the woods, one of his followers leaning against the wall near the door and picking at his fingernails.

“Let this be a reminder,” Uther addressed the crowd, “that the war against magic is never ended.  That the walls of Camelot will remain ever-vigilant.”  Uther’s voice was weak, his eyes bloodshot, his face a gaunt parody of its former health.  He looked out over the crowd as if awaiting something in the distance, but nothing came.  The crowd was quiet, knowing that Uther’s dedication to the elimination of magic had lost something, despite his declaration.  After a moment he turned, entering the castle. 

“That bastard Erbin must’ve brought the poor man in,” Lunette said, watching as the old man from the woods leaned over the balcony to scan the people below him before joining Uther inside.

“No he didn’t.” Lancelot tilted his head toward another man, bulky, black-haired, with a day’s worth of stubble, dressed in leather and joking with several of Camelot’s knights. 

“Bounty hunters,” Lunette sneered.  “Uther probably doesn’t even verify whatever story they tell him.  Come on, I’ve seen enough.”  

As she pulled Lancelot along, he took one last look at the dispersing crowd.  The sandy-haired man was nowhere to be seen.

 

“You really think Uther would recognize me after all these years?”  Lunette stirred her tea, watching Gaius take a sip of his as they sat alone in his candlelit chambers.

“I would hope you weren’t planning to put it to the test.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Gaius—I have no intention of going anywhere near Uther.  I hadn’t planned on being in Camelot at all, in fact.”

“Lunette . . .” Gaius reached over and clasped her hand.  “What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”

“ _Living_.  Keeping my promises.  Why do you ask me that as if I’ve done something wrong?”  She pulled away from Gaius’s hold, gripping her cup with both hands.  “Keep your head down, nose clean; bad things won’t happen—that was your outlook, wasn’t it?”  Her voice had a subtle, keen edge and her jaw grew tight as she stared down into her tea, refusing for the moment to look up.

“What happened, Lunette?” Gaius said softly.

“Nothing yet.  Somehow Erbin found out about the ring,” she rubbed a large rectangular red stone on her left index finger.  “It’s magic, it’s in my possession—I’m a scourge upon this earth.  Erbin’s world is very simple.”

“So you ran.”

“I was hoping to find Blaise, to get to Cameliard.  But Erbin’s men blocked the way.  They’re very efficient, Gaius, and so numerous.  And he doesn’t give up.” 

Gaius nodded, bringing his tea to his lips and blowing gently, though it was no longer hot.

“I need your help,” Lunette said finally, looking straight at him.

Gaius sighed.  “I can help you sneak out of Camelot and get you on the right road.  If you really think that’s best.”

“I don’t need help concealing myself.”

“Not if you just use the ring all the way to where you want to go.”  Gaius watched her; Lunette fidgeted, stood, started to wander about his chambers.  “But you seem reluctant to do that,” Gaius said.

“It’s just a trinket,” Lunette chided over her shoulder.

“It isn’t,” Gaius said firmly.  “Lunette, that ring isn’t a sacred object.  It may have been carefully, conscientiously crafted, but for selfish reasons.  Its purpose is—”

“Theft?”  She turned toward him.  “We’ve argued this before.” 

“To an impasse as I recall.  Lunette—it’s not worth it.”

“It’s too late—Erbin’s after me.”  Lunette sat down again.  “I don’t know why it was made.  I just know that it’s one of the few remnants of what used to be.  Don’t you ever get tired, Gaius, of dying before you die?”  She reached her hand tentatively toward him, but then tucked it back under her own arm.  “It’s bad enough to kill people, but Uther and Erbin want to destroy memory, too—all trace that these things once existed.  That _we_ once existed.  If protecting a magic trinket—even if it was originally made for stealing—is the only thing I can do, I do it.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Lunette paused, staring into her still-full cup.  “Erbin uses magic—he’s not obvious about it—and he claims that when he does it, it’s not magic.”

“And that’s why you had to detour here.”

“I’m not asking you to keep it yourself—may the gods help the person who asks you to take _that_ risk—I’m just asking you to get it to someone who can keep it safe.”

“I’m not sure Blaise is the one to do that.”

“Oh come on, Gaius—Blaise didn’t turn evil just because _you_ had a disagreement with him.  He’s the only one who can be trusted with it.  He’s the only one left.  You know that better than anybody.”  Lunette’s face fell, her voice growing quieter as she spoke.  After a moment, she looked up at Gaius, her eyes hard.  “If you won’t help me now, at least tell me whether you would have helped me then—if I hadn’t run away on my own.  Would you have helped me escape, or would your face have been among the jeering, leering crowd surrounding me as I died?”

Gaius said nothing, his hands clenched around his cup, his jaw tight.  He stared back at Lunette as she let her words sink in.  Her eyes were wet, desperate.

“Please—help me.”

 

“You’ve grown soft, Uther, lax.  Complacent.”  Erbin’s commanding voice echoed on the stones of the great hall where he dined with Uther and Morgana.

“So I’ve been told,” Uther sighed, impatient.  “And yet my kingdom still stands.”   

“Your son is lucky, from what I hear,” Erbin chewed.  “Almost too lucky.”

“ _Careful,_ ” Uther hissed between his teeth.

“The promises of magic are very seductive,” Erbin continued, nonchalant.  “It’s a very easy trap to fall into—as I’m sure you recall.”

Uther’s features turned to ice as he glared at Erbin.  Morgana laughed.

“Are you suggesting,” she said, “that Arthur uses magic?”

Erbin turned to Morgana, as though only at that moment realizing she was there.  “You are Rhiannon’s daughter?” he eyed her.  “Rhiannon and Gorlois?”

“Morgana is my ward.”  Uther said with a finality that made Erbin drop his inquiry.

“And have you come to Camelot to protect us from shadows?” Morgana sneered.

“Magic is very real, my dear,” Erbin said.  “And very dangerous.  And yes, it lurks in corners, preys upon the ignorant and weak, and has even been known to corrupt kings.”

“A victim of magic is a victim,” Uther said, “and is hardly responsible for the malevolence practiced upon him by a sorcerer.”

“Perhaps,” Erbin said quietly into his wine.

“What is it you want here?” Uther said.

“To do my job.  And to warn you.  A very dangerous woman with a very dangerous object is known to be in Camelot.”

“Then she’ll be found and executed,” Uther said.

“Will she now?” Erbin said.  “You and your men didn’t even know she’d come to town.”

“And how do _you_ know?” Morgana said.

“I’m very good at what I do, my dear.”

“I am not your dear,” Morgana snapped.

“She has a ring that makes her invisible,” Erbin said, ignoring Morgana.  “A rather sophisticated bauble—a large red stone overlaid with gold latticework, like an ensnaring net.  She wears it on her first finger,” he indicated the finger on his own left hand.

“And how would you know if she’s invisible?” Morgana said.

“Simply wearing the ring does not create the web of invisibility, my dear.  No, no—one must turn it, stone palm-ward to clench it in a fist,” Erbin made a fist with his left hand.

“Then why does she not do so and disappear from your odious sight for good?”

“I don’t know,” Erbin said, as though the question genuinely plagued him.  “Perhaps there is a high price to pay for its use.  Sorcery always comes at a price, does it not, my lord?” Erbin turned to Uther.

“Hidden prices,” Uther sighed heavily.  “Sorcerers seek nothing but to create fear and despair.”

“Ruin upon the world,” Erbin finished.

The table was silent as Uther contemplated and Erbin ate.  Morgana watched them, her food untouched. 

“Your men may search the city for this woman,” Uther said.  “And _only_ this woman.”

Erbin raised his goblet in salute.

 

Darkness roamed the streets as Lancelot slowly strode through the town, looking.  He stared into shadows and scrutinized what few faces he passed.  But whoever he was seeking, he did not find.

“Looking for someone I know?” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Lancelot turned around and Gwen smiled at him.  Her white dress and yellow bodice made her seem ethereal against the shadows of the evening.  His lackluster chainmail and unshaven chin felt suddenly inappropriate and unworthy.

“What are you looking for,” she repeated, moving next to him, her fingers brushing against his at his side.

“A ghost, it seems,” he said and took her arm in his as they began to walk along.  “The man who was executed,” Lancelot continued, “Samuel—I saw the bounty hunter catch him several days ago.  There was another man—his brother, I think—who tried to stop it.  The bounty hunter just hit him.  I don’t know why he didn’t capture him too, but he left him there.  I saw that man in the crowd at the execution.”

“Do you think he might do something?  Is he dangerous?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe he went away to mourn in peace.”

Gwen drew Lancelot closer as they walked, leaning her head against his arm.

“What happened to Arthur?” Lancelot eventually asked.

“No one knows.  He was hunting down a creature and hasn’t been seen since,” Gwen tightened her grip on Lancelot’s arm, anxious.

“How long?”

“Over a month.  Some say he might be dead.  Uther sends messengers and scouts every day, but . . .” she squeezed his arm again.

Lancelot stopped, turning her to face him.  “Do you know which way he went?” he asked, his face more drawn and worried than hers.  She shook her head.  He smiled weakly.  “I’m sure Arthur is fine,” he said.

She nodded and resumed her position against his arm.  After a while she said, “don’t go.” 

Lancelot didn’t reply. 

“Please,” she continued.  “This man, Erbin, who seems to know Uther—he scares me.  Morgana says he even makes Uther nervous.  Nothing good is going to happen while he’s here, I can tell.  Please, Lancelot, stay—at least until he’s gone.”

Lancelot nodded into the night.

~ 

The bounty hunter’s body was wet with dew.  Gaius maneuvered around the ax buried in the executioner’s block to look at the head abutting the front of the block.  The bounty hunter was kneeling, hands tied behind his back, ax blade still smooth against the decapitated torso.

“Well somebody thought he’d committed a crime,” Morgana said, stepping onto the platform where Uther waited for Gaius to finish his examination.  At the platform’s edge, Erbin surveyed the crowd like a general reconnoitering a battlefield.  Behind Morgana, at the bottom of the steps, Gwen looked on—she spotted Lancelot on the opposite side of the execution stage, but he was searching for something—or someone—his face turned away from her.

“Morgana,” Uther moved towards her, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“When it’s an accused witch you can’t beg me enough to watch by your side.” 

“My dear,” Erbin said authoritatively, “these are no trifling matters.  Someone has declared a challenge—and he must be met and dealt with before more innocents die.”

“You think a bounty hunter is innocent?” Morgana scoffed.

“I think a bounty hunter is well-armed and used to fighting,” Erbin said, still assessing the crowd—he saw Lancelot and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. 

“Then how did this one end up bound and executed?” Gaius sighed.  In the crowd, Lancelot moved slowly between people, all the while watched by Erbin’s unwavering gaze.

“Morgana,” Uther beckoned to Gwen, “you should go—I’m sure you have something better to do than—” he looked at the body of the kneeling bounty hunter, “worry about this.”

“Am I the one who looks worried?”  Morgana said as Gwen touched her arm.  “Don’t _you_ worry—I’m sure if this 'culprit' sought any more justice, he’d have kept the executioner’s ax with him.”

Gwen escorted Morgana off the platform as Uther approached Erbin.  “What have you brought into my city?” he hissed in Erbin’s ear.

“ _I_ have brought nothing but the tools to defeat evil.”  Erbin still pursued Lancelot with his eyes.  “But I cannot speak for others.”  He nodded to one of his men stashed among the onlookers, and the man began to tail Lancelot.  Lancelot peered over his shoulder, hesitant, discreet—Erbin narrowed his eyes even further and his lips curled in a satisfied smirk.

 

“I never thought I’d meet someone who makes Uther look tolerant and reasonable,” Morgana said.  Beside her, Gwen carried a basket of wilted flowers, and the penumbral streets around them were empty.  Night was falling.  “What’s wrong, Gwen?”

“Erbin was watching Lancelot this morning.”

“Oh.”

Gwen stopped and turned to Morgana.  Her brow was furrowed and she rung the handle of the basket between her hands.  “You don’t—you don’t think—”

“Having a man like Erbin interested in you is never a good thing, Gwen.  But I don’t know what will happen.  You said Lancelot escorted a woman to Camelot?”

“She’d been accosted by thieves.”

“Did he say anything else about her?”

“She’s a friend of Gaius’s.”    

“Anything else?”

Gwen shook her head.

“He probably didn’t want to get you involved,” Lunette said, appearing at Morgana’s side from behind them.  “Which is noble, but misguided.”

Gwen and Morgana glanced at each other.

“Oh, I’ve been following you for a while, now.”  Lunette said.

“Why is it misguided to protect Gwen from a man like Erbin?” Morgana asked.

“Because when a man like Erbin is around, everyone is already involved.  Some people tell themselves they’re not, that if they just keep clear of him, they won’t get hurt—but that’s a mistake.  Erbin’s a fanatic.  And there are very few who can pass his examinations.  You’re the Lady Morgana,” Lunette turned suddenly to face Morgana.

Morgana nodded.

“And you don’t like Erbin?”

“As you said,” Morgana replied, “no one’s safe with him around.  I take it you’re the one he’s hunting.”

Lunette contemplated the street in front of her.  “If I was, what would you do?” she finally asked.

“Tell you to run as fast as you could.”

“And if that weren’t possible?”

Morgana pondered Lunette until Gwen tugged her arm and whispered, “Morgana, don’t . . .”

Morgana glanced at Gwen’s troubled face then grabbed Lunette’s arm, pulling her through the lower town until they arrived at Gwen’s house.

“What do you need?” Morgana said as soon as Gwen had closed the door behind them.

“A trustworthy messenger to deliver something,” Lunette said, and Morgana noted that she was rubbing a rectangular red stone on her left index finger.

“What will you be doing in the meantime?” Gwen asked.

“Running as fast as I can.”

 

Sunrise.  The knights of Camelot joined Erbin’s men chasing Lunette through the winding streets.  She wore a stable boy’s attire, her hair pulled tight against her head but now coming undone.  Word flew around that she had tried to steal a horse, immediately followed by the story that she was a witch.  She successfully evaded Erbin’s men, showing a familiarity with Camelot that Erbin and his men lacked; the knights of Camelot had no such handicap.

They cornered her just in front of the castle steps.  The townspeople hung back while the knights and Erbin’s posse advanced.  Uther emerged from the castle, his stern countenance falling in recognition when he saw Lunette.  Erbin aimed a large crossbow at her.  She was completely encircled by men with swords.  She raised her hands in front of her, a gesture both protective and surrendering.  From among the crowd, Gaius pushed his way, approaching slowly and catching Lunette’s eye.  She stared back at him, her face pained.  Lancelot also pushed his way forward, seeing what Gaius did not—but he tackled Erbin too late. 

Uther rushed down the castle steps as Erbin’s arrow hit Lunette’s chest.  A perfect shot—she fell dead.  Erbin’s men pulled Lancelot from their leader, punching him for good measure.  Gaius kneeled down beside Lunette’s body and brushed a strand of loose hair from her face.

“Arrest the accomplice,” Erbin ordered, pointing to Lancelot, who was already held roughly by two of Erbin’s men.

“You had no right—she surrendered,” Lancelot said.

“With such an elusive witch?  That was a chance that could not be taken,” Erbin said.

“You know very well she was not a witch,” Gaius said, still kneeling beside Lunette’s body.  But he did not speak to Erbin; he glared up at Uther.

“And yet she carries magic devices.”  Erbin surveyed the surrounding onlookers.

“Like what?” Gaius said.

“There’s no ring on her finger,” Uther growled at Erbin.  Erbin’s head snapped around.  One of Erbin’s men knelt down and lifted each of Lunette’s hands.  Then he searched her clothes, finally shaking his head at Erbin.

“Where is it?” Erbin grabbed a sword and pressed its tip to Lancelot’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Lancelot said.

“Enough!” Uther said.  “ _I_ will determine his fate,” he quietly snarled in Erbin’s ear.  Two knights took Lancelot from Erbin’s men, while others went to disperse the crowd.  Uther took a final look at Lunette’s body and returned to the castle.  Erbin planted himself on the stones and studied each move Gaius made.  Erbin’s face was implacable, accusing.  From a window of the castle Morgana and Gwen watched—Morgana’s face froze in anger; Gwen covered her mouth in anguish.

And from within the vestiges of the scattering crowd, a sandy-haired man fixed his fierce gaze on Erbin. 

 

Morgana stormed into the throne room.  “It’s so nice to see this situation is under control.” 

“Hardly, my dear—in fact, I’m beginning to suspect this witch had more than one accomplice.”  Erbin stared intently at Gaius, making no pretense of subtlety.

“Lunette was not a witch,” Gaius insisted.  Uther stared out the window—or perhaps he merely stared at the wall, ignoring the three other people in the room.

“If I didn’t know better,” Morgana said to Uther, “I’d think you were sorry to see her dead.”

“Indeed—you are letting yourself be blinded by your past association,” Erbin chided.  “Whoever you thought she was then, it was a lie.”

“You knew her?”  Morgana stepped toward Uther.

“She was—she worked in the castle.  Many years ago,” Uther said.

“She was Ygraine’s maid and closest friend,” Gaius said firmly.

“And she chose to aid sorcerers!” Uther said.

“Pah—distractions!  The witch is dead and the murderer apprehended.  We must concentrate on finding that ring before more innocent souls are lost.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” Morgana said.  Uther glared at her in warning.

“You don’t happen to know anything about it?” Erbin said to Gaius.

“Gaius would never keep such a dangerous object,” Uther said as Gaius stared down Erbin.

“Then you won’t mind us searching your chambers?” Erbin said.

“ _I_ mind,” Uther said.  “Lunette had to sleep somewhere, so I suggest you start at the inn.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Erbin said, still glaring at Gaius.

When Erbin had left, Morgana turned to Uther.  “Lancelot is not a murderer,” she said.  “Are we really going to execute him for protecting an innocent woman from thieves?”

“That ring is dangerous, Morgana.  Erbin’s zeal may be intimidating to some, but he is rarely wrong.  If he says that Lancelot is involved, he has reasons for believing so.”

“He strikes me more as idiotic than intimidating, but if you’re content to let him kill friends—”

“We are at _war_!” Uther rounded on Morgana.  “As painful as it was to see Lunette succumb, she made her choice and suffered the consequences.  I mourn more than anybody.”

“We all suffer consequences,” Morgana insinuated softly before storming out.

 

Beneath the castle, meanwhile, in the torchlit dungeons, Guinevere clung to the bars of Lancelot’s cell.  Deprived of armor and bath water, Lancelot seemed well-suited to the grime of the hay-strewn cell.

“They think you killed the bounty hunter,” Gwen said.

“That’s the least of what Erbin thinks of me.”

“Lancelot, you have to tell them they have the wrong man.”

Lancelot clasped his hands around hers, stroking her fingers.  “They haven’t questioned me yet.”

“You didn’t kill that bounty hunter—but you know who did.  Tell them.”

“But I don’t, Gwen.  I don’t know if the man I saw in the crowd was a brother or a friend or just a sympathetic bystander—maybe he already had a grudge against the bounty hunter and didn’t even know Samuel.”  Lancelot paced his cell.

“You have to say something—Erbin isn’t going to let it go.  Please, Lancelot.”

“Throw another man into the fire to save myself?  I can’t do that, Guinevere.”

“He might actually be guilty—you’re _innocent_.”

“But he hasn’t done anything—not as far as I know.  If you don’t trust the King and Erbin to determine the truth of my innocence, how will they prove this other man’s guilt?”

A tear fell down Gwen’s cheek.  “Please, Lancelot—I can’t bear to watch Uther kill someone else I love—please.  I don’t know what else to do.”

Lancelot kissed Gwen’s forehead through the bars, he kissed her fingers—a moment that should have been private.  But a spider’s-eye view was given into a mirror, small, with an ornate silver frame.  A mirror held by Erbin’s hand as he stood in his chambers, cold, unswerving, vigilant.

 

Morgana sat in front of her mirror.  She watched Gwen’s reflection light the candles in her chambers.  Gwen was methodic, systematic; she had a practiced routine that at the moment gnawed at Morgana’s nerves—Gwen was in a safe little rut, she decided.

“Did you tell Lancelot to accuse an innocent man of witchcraft to save himself?” Morgana asked as casually as possible, reaching around behind her head to unbind her hair.

“Lancelot would never do that.”  Gwen paused for a moment, staring at the flame of the candle in her hand.  “He saw someone at Samuel’s execution—someone suspicious.  I asked him to tell what he knows.  Someone murdered—”

An arrow flew past Gwen, close enough to snuff the candle in her hands—it hit the door of Morgana’s wardrobe.

“Anyone I know?”  A man stepped out from behind the curtains of the still-darkened corner of the room.  He had already slid another arrow into his crossbow and had it pointed at Morgana.  She turned around to face him while Gwen stood frozen.

“That depends,” Morgana said.  “Who are you?”

The man considered her for a moment.  “No,” he said as if sighing.  “I think I’d prefer to remain anonymous for the moment.”

“What do you want?” Morgana had her hands in her lap and sat, regal, unabashed, staring straight at the strange sandy-haired man in dirty clothes and a black cloak.

“What do I want?” he said, stepping further forward, his voice intensifying.  “I want freedom, Lady.  I want to be able to live my life unmolested.  I want _crimes_ to be crimes.”

“You have magic,” Morgana said calmly.

“Not a single, solitary speck.  My parents practiced, though.  My brother,” the man choked, paused for a second, “he knew a useful spell or two.  That’s my crime—the reason your king hunts me like an animal—I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” he took yet another step towards Morgana, the crossbow in his hand unwavering, pointed at her eye.  “Because there are those who would say you, too, deserved to die, for committing no other treachery than being Uther’s ward.  What do you say, my Lady—does the misfortune of your birth warrant your death?”  The man was close to Morgana now, almost whispering.

“I’d say your beliefs are more important at the moment.”

The man smirked.  “Then it is lucky for you that I don’t believe in guilt by association.  But understand that Uther and his little yipping dog Erbin—they would kill you.  They would strike you down because of somebody you once spoke to.”  He relaxed, moving away from Morgana and taking a nearby chair.  He kept an alert eye on both women, his crossbow ever-ready.

“Did you kill the bounty hunter?” Gwen ventured, quietly speaking with the dead candle gripped tightly in her hand.

“Murder is a crime,” the man stated.

“Execution isn’t,” Morgana retorted.  Once again, the man smirked.  Morgana turned her back to him to face her mirror and started brushing her hair. “You still haven’t answered my question.  What is it you want from me?”

“The murdered woman from this morning—you spoke with her the other night.  She gave you something.  I want it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Morgana ran the brush through her long dark hair.

“I think we can both agree I know how to watch unseen.  Please don’t try my patience.”

Morgana reached into a nearby drawer full of jewelry.  The man stood and leveled the crossbow at her, wary.  Rummaging around, Morgana finally found a ring with a large red stone—a rectangular gem overlaid with a fine gold mesh that looked like a net.  She tossed it to the man and he caught it with his free hand, the crossbow in his other one never flinching.

“Having an invisibility ring isn’t going to endear you to Uther,” she said.

“It makes you invisible?”  He examined the ring.  Gwen stared agape at Morgana, who bit her lip.  He turned the crossbow on Gwen.  “How?” he said. 

Morgana hesitated.

“I sincerely doubt your king will miss your servant as much as he misses the bounty hunter.”

“Just turn the stone into your palm and make a fist,” Morgana said.

The man stepped away from Gwen and slipped the ring onto his finger.  He twisted it, clenched it, and immediately disappeared—his heavy cloak, his crossbow—everything he had on him, vanished.

“You can at least do me the courtesy of letting me watch you walk out of my chambers before I undress for bed,” Morgana said loudly into no-particular direction.

“As you wish,” they heard his voice say.  The door opened and he appeared briefly in the threshold and walked out.  Both Gwen and Morgana ran to the door and gaped into the deserted hallway.

“What are you going to tell Uther?” Gwen asked.

“What can I tell him?”  Morgana turned back into her chambers.  “Uther already knows what the man looks like thanks to Lancelot, and the man is already slated for the executioner’s block.”

“What about the ring?”

“You think Uther would forgive me for having the ring—or for even talking to Lunette like she was a person in the first place?”

“Well you have to tell him something—tell him the man already had the ring.  He did get in here without being seen.”

“Is that a lie I hear from honest Gwen?”  Morgana’s voice was soft, slithery, snide; Gwen was taken aback.  “I’m sorry, Gwen—of course, you’re right.  I should say something to Uther.”

 

Morgana found him in Arthur’s chambers.  The door was ajar, and as she peered into the darkened room she saw Gaius standing beside Uther, looking out the window adjacent to Arthur’s bed.

“How can you be so sure he’s all right?” Uther was asking Gaius.

“Arthur is the finest warrior in the land—if something had . . . well—I know we’d have heard about it by now,” Gaius said.

“No news is good news?”

“He probably just got distracted—he’ll come home when he’s ready.”

Uther said nothing.  He stared out the window at the empty streets below wetted by a soft rain.

“Perhaps,” Gaius tried quietly, “perhaps it’s best that he wasn’t here to see Lunette die.  Or see her at all.”

Uther nodded vaguely.

“Sire,” Gaius said after a moment, “you don’t really believe Lunette was conspiring with—Simon, if Erbin is correct about his name?”

“Lunette turned to magic years ago—there was nothing you or I could have done to change her fate, Gaius.”

“And this Simon?”

“Is a sorcerer, a murderer and will be found.  Erbin always catches his quarry.”

“Yes, I remember,” Gaius said grimly, almost inaudibly.  Then, more purposefully, “Erbin seemed to know Simon’s identity even before Lancelot gave his information.”

“Erbin is not a solitary agent,” Uther said irritably, “he has an army of informants.  Knowing the way his mind works, Erbin probably inquired about the sorcerer Samuel’s family the minute the executioner’s ax fell.  I doubt a brother was hard to find.  Erbin is very thorough—it’s why I tolerate him.”

“No stone unturned,” Gaius said beneath his breath.  “Then why go through the motions with Lancelot?”

“Erbin was testing him.  Lancelot proved himself a worthy ally in the fight against magic.”

“And have I proved myself?”

Still hiding behind the open door, Morgana risked poking her head out, not entirely certain she’d heard the question.

“Gaius, after all we’ve been through, after all these years—if anyone is beyond reproach, it’s you.”

“I don’t think Erbin agrees with you.”

“I am not interested in Erbin’s approval.  He thinks people can be corrupted by breathing the same air as a sorcerer.  I’m a little bit wiser than that.”

Behind them, Morgana scoffed, almost laughed aloud.  She ducked behind the door again, but neither man seemed to have heard her.

“And last time I checked,” Uther continued, “I was king, not Erbin.  You have nothing to fear, Gaius.” 

Uther returned his gaze to the drizzling night.  Uther’s silence a dismissal, Gaius bowed, and Morgana hurried down the hall to avoid him coming out of the room.  Uther, unwilling to go to his own chambers, remained in Arthur’s.  After hours of worried vigil, he finally fell asleep in a chair, head and arms resting on his son’s desk.  It saved his life—for Simon, invisible and patient, waited in Uther’s chambers, leaving only when a servant entered with a basin of fresh water, and, confused by his lord’s absence, went to seek him elsewhere; and the bell tolled the morning hour.

 

Morgana sat the night in her bed, arms encircling knees curled to her chest.  She was still in that position long after the sun had risen and Gwen had entered, opening up curtains and windows.

“Gwen, how would you hunt down somebody who was invisible?”

“I don’t know—isn’t that the point of being invisible?”

“Yes, it is.”

After breakfast Morgana tried to follow Erbin.  He spoke briefly with a dozen of his men and then made his way up to the castle wall overlooking the city.  It was a favored overlook, and Erbin spent most of the morning there, surveying the city like a hawk on the prowl.  He showed no concern for his own safety or that of his men, nor did he attempt to coordinate with the knights of Camelot, though Sir Lamorack had been ordered to see to any request.  Erbin simply watched.  When Morgana became too stiff and bored tucked around the corner, she turned back inside.  Erbin apparently was rooted to the wall for the day.

She discreetly made her way through the corridors down to Erbin’s chambers.  His room was neatly ordered.  Several changes of attire were carefully hung in the wardrobe and extra boots lined the wall beneath one of the windows.  Swords, daggers and knives were arranged by descending size on the table, followed by a dozen or more arrows.  Three crossbows leaned against three chairs.  The blankets of the bed had been pulled up and smoothed out, but the edges hung haphazardly over the side and the pillows had not been fluffed—Erbin had made the bed himself rather than a servant. 

On a small table next to the bed, alongside a candle, lay an ornate mirror, round, framed by silver knots and whorls—the entire thing was the size of Morgana’s hand.  She picked it up, glancing at her own image before tilting it to more closely examine its surface.  As she did so, Erbin’s reflection appeared, standing in the doorway.  Morgana gasped and turned around.

“Pretty little thing isn’t it?” Erbin stepped into the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Morgana swallowed, still gripping the mirror.  “It seems out of place with the rest of your things.”  She glanced around at the room.

“It’s quite incongruous, my dear.”  Erbin slid closer to Morgana.  “As are you.”

“A girl likes to make an impression,” Morgana smiled and sidestepped him, still clinging to the mirror.  Erbin grasped her arm—a tight, confining grip.

“Why have you been following me?”  His tone was commanding, accusing, and his eyes bored into Morgana.

“I wanted to learn,” Morgana met his gaze.  “Uther says you’re the best—I was studying your methods.  Now I suggest you release me.  Unless you want it known that you harmed the king’s ward.”

Erbin pulled the mirror out of Morgana’s grasp as he let go of her arm.  He brushed off the mirror and examined it as though he himself had just found it.  “Perhaps I should tell King Uther,” he said before Morgana could leave, “that his ward was . . . examining one of my possessions.”

Morgana laughed.  “Forgive me that,” she said slyly, “but I merely wanted to know how you managed to track a woman who could become invisible, and you weren’t in your chambers when I knocked.  I got curious.”

“I don’t recall you knocking, my dear.”

“Then be sure to add that you were stalking me when you talk to Uther.”  Morgana watched Erbin, waiting for his next repartee, but he was staring into the mirror in his hands.  “Well,” Morgana sneered, “how did you track Lunette when she could disappear into thin air?”

“Not disappear my dear—no no no—she was hiding behind thin air.  She was still physically present.”  Erbin still stared into the mirror.  Morgana tilted her head to see better, and she saw it flash—a quick snippet of Simon whetting a dagger replaced Erbin’s reflection in the mirror’s frame.

A sharp intake of breath from Morgana and Erbin spun around.

“Are you still here, my dear?  Your question has been answered.”  Erbin threw the mirror on the bed and went to the table to pick up one of the swords.

“You use magic?”  Morgana was appalled.

“I appropriate the tools I need to fight evil.  Do you really want this monster Simon terrorizing your city?”

“I’m more terrified of the monster in front of me.  What’s it like to be a hypocrite?”

Erbin slammed the sword back onto the table.  “ _Magic is a plague upon this world_ —I do what must be done.  I don’t expect a fragile little thing like you to understand the sacrifices that must be made.”

“And how many people suffer from this plague?” Morgana closed in on Erbin. 

“More than you can imagine, my dear.  I have witnessed entire families fall because of one person’s weakness.  This kingdom nearly fell.”

“Entire families slaughtered by your intolerance,” Morgana grew livid, “let me guess—you couldn’t take _chances_?”

Erbin smiled—a disturbing, menacing grimace—his face close to Morgana’s.  “If one link breaks, my dear, the entire chain is broken.”  He picked the mirror back up from the bed.  “Would you like to see the whereabouts of this sorcerer Simon, or would you prefer to see your world undone by negligence?”

As Morgana stared, furious at Erbin, she felt a surge and a golden flash lit up her eyes.  The mirror cracked in Erbin’s hand, and Morgana’s rage turned to surprise and fear.  Erbin, unmoved by the useless mirror in his hands, still stared at Morgana knowingly.

“Uther was naïve to keep any child of Rhiannon’s—folly I intend to rectify.”

Morgana turned and grabbed a sword.  “Don’t you touch me,” she snarled, backing toward the door—too late she realized her mistake in moving away from the weapons on the table.  Erbin picked up a crossbow.

“A plague,” he repeated, reaching for an arrow.  Morgana lunged, slicing his hand—he dropped the crossbow, but grabbed a sword.  He ignored his injury.  “A plague I will not allow to spread.”

“Uther won’t—”

“Uther, like always, needs someone to save him from himself!”  Erbin’s eyes were wide as he advanced, backing Morgana into the hallway.  Sir Lamorack, accompanying two of Erbin’s men along the corridor, saw her distress and drew his sword—but Erbin’s men attacked him first as Erbin cried _you won’t escape, you witch!_ and Morgana backed further down the hall.

“Lady Morgana!” Lamorack called out, fighting off Erbin’s men.

“She’s a witch!” Erbin cried again, his eyes fiery and wild.  Morgana swung at him, but he deflected and she returned to the defensive.  She heard a noise behind her and on her periphery saw two more of Erbin’s men round the corner with swords drawn.  In a blink, she turned and ran toward the men.  She pretended to trip on her dress, and when they moved to catch her she stabbed one of them, punched the other, and maneuvered past them both.  She ran, but was blocked by another two of Erbin’s men coming down the hall.  She glanced behind her to see Erbin and the man she punched advancing on her.

“Somebody help me!” she yelled, backing against the wall.  Behind Erbin she noted Sir Lamorack now engaged with three of Erbin’s men—two were dead or wounded on the floor.

“Your corruption shall no longer stain this earth,” Erbin said, his pace slow and steady.

The two men approaching from down the hall neared her first, and Morgana raised her sword—and one of the men lurched, looking down to his chest where a sudden stream of blood stained his shirt—a thrust from behind.  The man’s companion looked to see who—and what—had delivered the blow, but there was nothing and his friend fell to the floor.

“I knew it!  Accomplice!” Erbin pointed his finger at Morgana and then rushed forward as the second of his men was killed by the unseen assailant.  Morgana glanced around but saw no clue as to Simon’s position.

“Show yourself Simon, you coward,” Erbin pressed his back against the wall opposite Morgana, rotating his sword left and right.  “Stop hiding behind your sorceries and face me like a man.”

“Cowardice is relative, you leech,” a voice said close-by.  Erbin perked his ears to pinpoint its origin.

“Your soul need not be lost,” Erbin’s eyes darted to and fro.  Erbin’s other man also pressed his body against the wall next to Erbin, searching for a sign of Simon.  The sounds of Lamorack’s fight carried up the hall.

Morgana felt her sword budge and guessed that Simon had put himself between her and Erbin.

“Do you lack courage?” Erbin continued, raising his voice.  “Or do you share in your brother’s villainy?”

Erbin suddenly lunged to the side as the sound of sword hitting stone pierced the air.  Erbin swung around and a fight ensued.  Only Erbin’s efforts could be seen, but the sound of sword against sword rang all down the corridor—somehow, Erbin was successfully fighting Simon.  Erbin’s man jumped forward to join the fray against the invisible enemy, but Morgana blocked him—he sneered at her, poking his sword forward as if she were a child, then swinging with more purpose.  Morgana ducked and lunged, driving her sword into his chest from below.  Surprised, he fell forward, pushing further onto her sword—she let go and twisted away as he hit the ground.

When she turned, Erbin was still fighting, blood running down his nose and from his injured hand.  Sir Lamorack ran to Morgana, putting her behind him.  In front of them, Erbin choked and dropped his sword, a hole opening in his chest.  He stumbled backwards as if kicked and hit the wall, sliding down to the floor.  His body jerked slightly—a death spasm, or perhaps Simon had kicked him again.  By the time Lamorack reached him, Erbin was dead, and there was no indication whether or not Simon had stuck around.

 

“I am so sorry.”  Uther held Morgana tight.  “I judged Erbin by the man he was years ago.  Dedicated, diligent—not this blind lunatic.” 

They were in Morgana’s chambers where Morgana had retreated during the commotion following Erbin’s death.  The rest of Erbin’s men had been arrested and the hunt for Simon was entrusted to Sir Lamorack.  Uther had insisted Morgana be thoroughly checked for injuries, and Gaius was packing up his kit.  In the background of Morgana’s chambers, Gwen stood patient.

Morgana pulled away from Uther and turned the corners of her mouth up in the pretense of a smile.   “Simon saved my life,” she said.

“He didn’t, Morgana.  Simon is removing anything he sees as a threat to his purpose—he would have killed Erbin regardless—it’s only lucky he didn’t kill you as well.”

“Do you know why Erbin attacked you?” Gaius asked.

Morgana shook her head.  “He said something about my mother.  What would my _mother_ have to do with any of this?” Morgana looked to both Uther and Gaius, but neither said a word.  Outside her window, the sky showed a vague pink as the sun set.  After a moment, Morgana claimed exhaustion and asked to be excused from dinner.

“Of course,” Uther said.  “Get some rest.”

“You don’t really think Simon is a good man?” Gwen asked when Uther and Gaius were gone.

“You don’t really think he’s a villain?” Morgana replied.

“He’s killing people.”

“Only people who want to kill him.  He’s not endangering anyone else.  I would have thought you of all people would understand Simon—Uther killed your father the same way he killed Simon’s family.”

“I’m not trying to get revenge.  If I did what Simon is doing, I would be no better than Uther or Erbin.”

“So what should Simon do—bend over?” Morgana took off her necklace and began playing with it.  “If killing a villain makes you a villain then Arthur must be the epitome of evil by now.  Maybe that’s why he hasn’t come home—he’s roaming the land committing atrocities, with no one to stop him lest they become him.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Morgana threw the necklace onto the table.  “How many people would still be alive today if someone had stopped Uther years ago?  Tom would be.  But I’m sure the daughter of the next man Uther unjustly executes will take comfort in the fact that at least _your_ hands aren’t dirty.  I think I can undress myself tonight.”  Morgana turned her back to Gwen.

Wounded and uncertain, Gwen left.  She meandered over to Gaius’s chambers where she found him seated, conversing with Lancelot.

“This is my fault,” Lancelot said.

“Erbin’s attack on Morgana is not your doing, Lancelot, believe me,” Gaius said.

“And Simon?  He’ll probably go after the king next.”

“That’s not your fault, Lancelot,” Gwen said, sitting down beside him.

“I accused him when he had done nothing.”

“He murdered the bounty hunter,” Gwen said.  “The man’s hands were tied behind his back—you don’t really think that was a fair fight?”  Gwen clasped Lancelot’s hand, “Simon would be trying to kill Uther no matter what—you had nothing to do with it.”

“Gwen’s right,” Gaius said.

“And if Simon succeeds in killing the king, will you still say that?” Lancelot said.

“Yes,” Gaius said, “but I’d rather stop him, if it’s all the same to you.”

“How do we do that?” Gwen asked.

Silence.  Gaius and Lancelot met each other’s eyes, both lamenting Merlin’s absence. 

“It’s too bad we don’t know a magic spell that would counter an invisibility ring—but that would be illegal,” a voice broke in from the doorway.

All three turned to see Morgana standing in the threshold, her hair loose and her jewelry gone.

“You don’t happen to know any?” she asked Gaius as she stepped into the room.

“Of course not,” Gaius said.

“Oh,” Morgana feigned disappointment.  “It is interesting, though.”

Gaius narrowed his eyes, and it was Gwen who responded.  “What is?” she said.

“Erbin didn’t seem to like you very much,” Morgana started circling Gaius’s chambers, looking around at all his accoutrements.  “In fact, sometimes it seemed like he suspected you.”

“Erbin was paranoid,” Gaius said.

“And you know this from past experience?”  Morgana stopped, turning to Gaius.

“I know this from opening my eyes.”

“So you’ve never done magic?”

“Of course not,” Gwen said.  “Morgana, what’s gotten into you?”

“Simon never did any magic, either,” Morgana said.

“Simon is trying to _kill the king_ ,” Gaius said.

“Simon is protecting himself from being killed.  He saved my life—and you may not want to admit it, but he probably saved yours too,” Morgana was leaning over Gaius, staring down at him.  “Tell me, Gaius—do you think Erbin died unjustly?”

“We’re wasting time,” Gaius replied.

“Really?  What should we be doing—saving Uther?  How—without magic we all seem rather impotent, don’t we?”

Gaius stared back at Morgana, his expression hard, cold. 

“Are there guards around the king?” Lancelot asked.

“Of course,” Morgana said.

“Sir Lamorack is very good,” Gaius sighed, softening. 

“But is ‘very good’ good enough?” Morgana said.

“It has to be,” Gaius said.  “It’s all we’ve got at the moment.”

“Did Lunette come to you?” Morgana again rounded on Gaius.

“Aren’t you worried about Uther?” Gwen said.

“You heard Gaius—there’s nothing more we can do.  Did Lunette seek your help before she died?”

Gaius reared up off his chair.  “I don’t see how the affairs of the court physician are any concern of the king’s ward.”

“She did, didn’t she,” Morgana said softly.  “And I see Lancelot is borrowing Merlin’s room—you didn’t even give her a roof over her head, did you?  Is that why Uther forgave you and no one else?  Because you were willing to turn you back even on friends?”

“Morgana!” Gwen cried.

“Accusations are easy to make,” Gaius said gravely.  “Erbin was quite fond of them.  You should be more careful how you make them—you never met Lunette, and you didn’t know Erbin, or anyone else from back then.  You think anyone with magic should get to act with impunity—so clearly you agree with Uther that magic alone determines a person’s worth.”

Morgana tensed, flushing with rage.  She stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Lunette did come to you,” Lancelot stated.

“And then she left—Lunette made her own decisions.”  Gaius sat down again, heavy and slumping—burdened with a weight he didn’t know how to carry.

“Arthur should be here,” Gwen mumbled, staring down at her fingers.

“Yes, he should,” Gaius said.  “But he isn’t.”

Lancelot stood suddenly and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”  Gwen asked, standing as well.

Lancelot turned to Gaius.  “You said there was nothing more to do here, that Sir Lamorack is a skilled knight.”

“If you’re asking if you can do anything to help—that isn’t already being done . . . well, I think Sir Lamorack has it covered,” Gaius answered sympathetically.

“I can find Arthur.  Where is King Uther?”

“Probably in Arthur’s chambers again,” Gaius said as Lancelot turned toward the door.

“Lancelot—” Gwen stepped towards him.

“I can find him, Gwen,” Lancelot swiveled back around to her, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.  “I promise.”

“But we’ve looked everywhere,” she said.

“Obviously not everywhere,” Lancelot said as he left.

 

Outside Arthur’s chambers, Lancelot found four knights unconscious—one bleeding, though not seriously wounded.  The door was ajar and Lancelot crept in with his sword drawn.  Inside two more knights lay on the floor—one Sir Lamorack.  On the opposite side of the room, Uther stood wary, his back against the wall, a sword in his hand.  Uther saw Lancelot, but gave no command, made no sign of acknowledging him.

“Well are we going to end this or not?” Uther called into the air.  Lancelot nudged his way along the wall.

“Patience, my lord,” a voice replied—and like Erbin before him, Uther tried to pinpoint its location.  “I want you to know what it’s like to be hunted—I want you to feel what so many of your victims have felt—pain, terror, confusion—not understanding why you’re being hunted—because  you don’t understand, do you—why you deserve to die?”

“Enlighten me,” Uther called, slowly moving his sword left and right.

“So your minion can save you?”

Lancelot froze.  He pressed harder against the wall and waited with bated breath.

“Do you think your king is wise and just?” Simon said, his voice closer to Lancelot than before.

“Uther is not my king.”

“Then why are you here?”  The voice was so close Lancelot thought he felt Simon’s breath.

“I have an irrepressible drive to help those in need.”  Lancelot lunged forward, but hit only air—he skipped several steps along the wall then turned to again face his invisible foe.  Uther was pressed against the adjacent wall, almost on the opposite side of the room.  Lancelot lowered his sword somewhat but kept his ears alert for the sound of footfalls.  “I came,” he continued, “to speak with Sir Lamorack about Prince Arthur.”

“The missing son.”  Simon’s voice sounded further away to Lancelot—close to Uther again.

“I came to offer aid in finding him.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot spotted a knife lying on the window sill.

There was no response from Simon.

“I’m not a knight,” Lancelot edged toward the window.  “I can go places, ask questions where official messengers cannot.”

“Then I wish you luck,” Simon said after a moment.  “I’m sure Sir Lamorack will recover shortly.”

Uther sucked in his breath and swung his sword—metal hit metal with a resounding clang.  Uther scurried along the wall—he was almost at the farther corner of the room, and as he prepared to deflect another strike his eyes shone—afraid, angry, panicked, defiant, annoyed.  Lancelot discreetly picked up the knife.

“Would you like to know my earliest memory?” Simon asked—his voice seemed to move across the room.  “The first thing I learned to keep in my head?  My father losing his, followed by my mother.  Right here in Camelot.  My brother covered my eyes too late.  He smuggled us out of this place—he took care of me.  And I came back, Uther.”

Uther swung again—nothing—and his eyes darted about.

“I came back in time to watch my brother die on the very same block of wood as our parents.  Oh, I know it’s not the exact same wood, not really.  But it might as well be.  So here I am—and I want to know to whom do you answer, _oh my liege_?”  Simon became more emphatic, his voice rising.  “You think I fear death?  Do you think your little soldiers lined up in rows frighten me?  If yours is the highest authority in the land, where else can I go to plead my case but the Otherworld?  Your law is _unjust_ , I say.  And since I am already a criminal in your court, I have nothing to lose by killing you, do I?”

Lancelot held his breath and lowered his sword.

“You no longer wish to defend your king?”  Simon’s voice sounded amused.

“You’re right,” Lancelot said.  “Uther is unjust.  He cares only for power and wealth, not skill or genuine worth—only his petty dealings with other petty men.  He once had me arrested and banished—for aspiring to serve him—can you believe that?  I committed a crime in offering my services.”  Lancelot scoffed.  “And if the rumors I have heard are half true, then he has caused only suffering.”

Uther glared at Lancelot, more irked than confused.  For a moment, he seemed to forget Simon in his rage at Lancelot.

And then Uther hit the wall, his shoulder pierced with an invisible blade.  He dropped his sword and grasped the invisible blade with his good hand. Uther's eyes darted in frustration.

“Justice.  You shall receive what you have given,” Simon whispered in Uther’s ear, twisting the blade as he yanked it out.

Lancelot threw the knife.

A clang sounded as a sword hit the floor, slowly appearing as if fading into view.  Lancelot’s knife seemed to hang in mid air; Uther swiftly bent to retrieve his sword before Simon could remove the knife.  Lancelot ran forward, his own sword drawn, but it was Uther who killed Simon, thrusting the sword forward with his uninjured arm.  Uther felt Simon’s weight crumble to the floor.  Lancelot groped to find the ring on Simon’s hand and tossed it aside.  They watched the last few seconds of life flutter from Simon’s eyes—a knife still buried in his shoulder, blood leaking from his gut.

~ 

For two hours, crews of people paraded in and out of Arthur’s chambers.  Gaius saw to Uther’s wound, servants carried Simon’s body out, and Gwen brought wet compresses for the unconscious knights as they recovered.  Morgana came in for a while and watched.  She listened as Uther thanked Lancelot and Lancelot vowed to find Arthur.  Uther accepted the vow half-heartedly.  Morgana left unnoticed, and when Gaius was satisfied with Uther’s dressing, he took over from Gwen.  It was only after everyone else had left that Uther and Gaius noticed the ring was nowhere to be found.

~ 

Lancelot left the chambers of the court physician with what few possessions he had.  In the stairwell he encountered Morgana coming up.  He told her Gaius was still with Uther and she nodded, distracted.

“Tell me something, Lancelot,” she said as he passed her.  “If your family was murdered, wouldn’t you dedicate yourself to saving others from suffering the same fate?”

Lancelot paused, not sure how to answer—but apparently he didn’t need to.

“What if someone—Gwen, or Arthur—was murdered—would you avenge their deaths?”

Lancelot looked away, examining the jointure in the stones of the wall.  Morgana stared reproachfully at him for a minute then passed him, entering Gaius’s chambers.  Lancelot stood in the stairwell, feeling suddenly adrift.  Slowly he made his way to Gwen’s house, wondering if he would truly be able to find Arthur—but at least he knew the direction of the manticore Arthur had been hunting.

Guinevere looked up out her window and saw Lancelot approaching—she could tell he was preoccupied.  She knew he would leave after dinner, and she knew he could be blamed for the missing ring.  Uther had proclaimed a reward for finding it, and harsh punishment for anyone hiding—or wielding it.  It was a dangerous object.  Gwen snatched it off the table where she had been staring at it, deliberating.  She tucked it underneath her pillow—inside a knotted hole in the wood of her bed—and then steadied herself to answer Lancelot's knock.

 

_\--end--_


End file.
